


And the World Turns

by Arinia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Multi, Multiple Pairings, One Shot, Rare Pairings, Romance, Slice of Life, Tumblr Prompt, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinia/pseuds/Arinia
Summary: A series of one-shots and short stories from prompts given to me on Tumblr. Updated semi-frequently as prompts come in. Features multiple characters and pairings. Each story is self-contained and unconnected with the others. Mostly fluff, "daily life" interactions.





	1. Winnie

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Despite claiming to be the more mature one Arthur has left his teddy bear over at Francis's place at least once and had to go back and get it." FrUk

“Back so soon?” 

It was all he could do not to punch the supremely smug face that greeted him at the door. It was bad enough Arthur was here far more than he would ever admit, but Francis just had to drag it out. Gritting his teeth, Arthur not so gently pushed his way into the grand townhouse, trying to ignore the mouth-watering scent of freshly baked bread in the air. 

“I’m here on business so wipe that stupid smirk off your face, frog.” A folder of papers was clutched in his grip, eyes drifting towards the staircase where the true reason for his visit lie. Francis followed his gaze, smirk only growing more pronounced, but he wasn’t going to give Arthur an easy out. Oh no, that had never been his style. 

“Business? How boring! Are you sure there isn’t some other reason you’re here?” He leaned close, that intoxicating cologne burning Arthur’s lungs, but Arthur had to focus. His wretched libido had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and he wasn’t about to let it reign supreme once more. 

“Yes, business. I know you French have little idea how to properly run affairs, but do try and muster up some concentration for once?” He was off again, feet leading him into Francis’ office, sitting gracefully in a chair he had occupied more times than he could count. He pointedly ignored his own photograph sitting atop the desk, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the offending Frenchmen. 

“Now what-”

“Here,” Arthur remarked, shoving the folder across the desk and getting to his feet. He had to do this now, or else Francis would rope into something he certainly didn’t want. “Read those things over, unless you’re still functionally illiterate, I have to use your restroom.” Francis could hardly protest before Arthur was gone, walking quick as he dared towards Francis’ room. 

And there she was, exactly where he had left her. Shame rushed to his cheeks, igniting them, and Arthur swiftly gathered her into his arms, hating how he needed her by his side for a good nights sleep. Hating even more how she somehow made her way over and over again to Francis’ house when- well, nevermind why. He had to get her out of here before one of Francis’ vile friends saw her, and his whole secret was exposed. 

There was no need to play pretend now. He took the stairs two at a time, side-stepping Francis who was gazing at him with an amused expression. “Arthur, these papers are from 2014 and they’re not even-”

“Well, my work here is done. Don’t bother to contact me, I’ll just block your number. Good day!” And with that, he was out the door, not feeling completely secure until he was back on his own soil, far away from that dastardly man. 

A few weeks later found him right back where he would vehemently deny ever being, half asleep, arms curled around a warm body. Winnie, as impossible as it had been, was still at his home. It was high time he got over this stupid habit he had developed, particularly because he was sick of crawling back to Francis’ with some pitiful excuse. 

The warm body slithered out of his grip, placating his mumbled protests with a gentle kiss, and Arthur let out a content sigh despite himself. Something was placed in his hands, soft and familiar, and Arthur was startled awake by what he saw.

“Winnie! How-did you break into my house?!” But Francis was smiling, a smile that few got to see, and his hand had found its way to Arthur’s hair. 

“I managed to find a replica,” came the answer, and no more needed to be said. Arthur’s face flushed, and he opened his mouth to deny the obvious, but Francis’ expression was so understanding he couldn’t find the words. He pulled the bear tight to his chest, trying to clamp down the airy feeling engulfing him. 

Pride wouldn’t allow him to express his gratitude, but Francis didn’t need to hear it. He simply crawled back into bed, giving owner and bear a lingering kiss, and allowing Arthur the chance to salvage his dignity by being the big spoon. Arthur held them both securely, face pressed against Francis’ soft curls. 

“Bloody frog.” There was even a tinge of affection there, but only Francis would ever be able to discern it.


	2. The Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: "Headcanon for ameswiss: they both signed up for an eating contests at a fair close to where Alfred lived because the food was free but they still ended up winning anyway." AmeSwiss

“Tell me why exactly we’re signing up for this again?”

Alfred grinned despite his boyfriend’s weary tone, signing their names with flourish. Handing the clipboard back to the chipper gal behind the stand, he turned to Vash, who was giving him a deeply skeptical look. 

“What, you’re telling me all of a sudden you’re turning down free shit? Vash Zwingli?” Alfred put a hand over his chest, feigning shock. “Should I be calling a doctor? Do you have heat stroke?” He put a hand to Vash’s forehead, who quickly batted his hand away with a frown. 

“Just because I like free ‘shit’ doesn’t mean I relish in the idea of stuffing deep fried food down my throat like an animal.” Alfred scoffed and slung an arm around him, using their height difference to plant a kiss on that golden head. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Promise! Besides, the prize is a giant stuffed cow, and I wanna win it for you.” 

Just as he thought, Vash’s face relaxed a fraction, which was all the indication Alfred needed that his stoic boyfriend had caved. His arm slid off his shoulders, reaching for his hand and tugging him over to the stands, knowing that Vash could just as easily rescind his acceptance at any moment. 

Alfred could hardly pay attention to the announcer as he gazed at their competition, sizing them up. The usual suspects were out; men who looked like eating contests were their job, and deceptively small women who he knew would be able to pack it away. Alfred wasn’t sweating any human competitors, and besides, apple pie was his favourite. 

The siren sounded and the mouth-watering pies were placed in front of them. Alfred wasted no time in digging in, the cheers from the crowd spurring him on. He was privately glad Arthur wasn’t here to witness him scarf down his food, some caramel dribbling down his lips in a most undignified fashion. Pie after pie was brought out, and Alfred continued to inhale them, as steadily the competition dwindled. 

He caught Vash’s movements out of the corner of his eye, who was eating more slowly than Alfred, and with much more manners. Unlike Alfred who had long ago abandoned them, Vash was still using his cutlery, and not a crumb was on his face. To Alfred’s utmost surprise, the chalk number behind Vash’s head matched his own. Damn! He was managing to keep pace with him?

Soon enough, it was down to the pair of them, and Alfred was determined to beat Vash. Yet, Vash never relented; eating each pie with that same slow, steady pace he had the entire competition. They exchanged a glance, and Vash smirked, challenge gleaming in those green eyes. Oh yeah. Alfred had to beat him now!

“It’s… it’s a tie!” The voice suddenly rang out, and Alfred looked up, outraged. The announcer looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s no more pies, son. You two ate the lot of them.” 

The giant cow was brought over, their picture snapped and put up in the fair’s hall of fame, and Alfred could hardly believe his well-mannered European boyfriend had actually tied with him in an eating contest. It was kind of hot, actually. He stared at Vash as they walked, until finally he could hold it in no longer.

“Alright, hold up. You basically acted like you hated this, and then I find out you’ve got some hidden talent for this shit? Spill, babe. This ain’t your first contest, is it?!” Vash simply smiled.

“I said I didn’t want to act like an animal. I never said I didn’t want to win.”


	3. Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was simply "AmeSwiss Affection."

The click of the keyboard, soft and consistent, was all that could be heard in the silent room. 

His head rested in the dip between Vash’s legs, perfectly cradled, as if it had been shaped just for him. His own long legs were stretched out the length of the sofa, his bare feet brushing up against the leather armrest. He was careful in every small movement, not wanting to disturb the serenity that had befallen them, here in the living room, bathed in warm sunshine. 

From here, he had a perfect view of Vash, and he watched in drowsy fascination the minute details of his sharp face. The pursing of his lips, pointed eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, the wrinkling of his nose when a number didn’t add up. The long hair obscured his view somewhat, and he reached up to tuck the offending strands behind his ear. A smile played around his lips when Vash simply allowed it, as if the gesture hadn’t occurred at all; the only sign he had felt it was the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for a brief moment. 

At long last, Vash settled back into the sofa with a soft sigh, scrolling through the endless text to make sure every number had its place. Wordlessly, Alfred tugged his free hand away from the laptop, draping it over his chest. A breath, steady and satisfied, escaped him, as their warm palms rested against each other. They rose and fell in time with his breathing, perfectly slotted together.

Moments like this, Alfred could close his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the mesmerizing silence, broken only by a gentle correction from the keyboard every now and then. Eventually, Vash was finished, and his other hand found its way to Alfred’s hair; calloused fingers sweeping through his messy locks. Alfred cracked open an eye, rewarded with a gentle smile that was only reserved for him. 

“Are you done?”

“I am. You were quiet, for once.” 

“I’m always quiet!” 

“Not always.” 

Green eyes were alight with a rare playfulness that belied the frown on Vash’s face. Alfred leaned upwards, resting on his elbows, and captured that frown in a lingering kiss. He could still taste the hot coca from earlier, and his tongue flicked lazily inside, relishing in how distinctly Vash that taste was. The kiss was languid, no hurry, no itch to turn into something more. When they pulled away, Alfred lowered himself back down to his lap, eyes shutting, letting Vash’s fingers caress the length of his cheek. 

And so they sat, in companionable silence, watching as the afternoon sun slipped behind the horizon.


	4. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” - GerEng From the sappy prompts list

Warmth. 

Though Arthur would never admit it aloud, hell he hardly dared admit it to himself, this warmth had become an integral part of his life. 

He lay here, practically surrounded on every side, not a sound in the room save for the steady tick of the clock, and the slow, heavy breathing of the room’s various occupants. At his feet, Aster shifted in her sleep, a soft grunt as she lay her snout on his leg. Slowly, carefully, he stretched his arm down to scratch her head, relishing in the coarse fur that caught under his fingernails. 

It hadn’t taken long for Ludwig’s dogs to worm their way into his heart, cracking it open and making themselves rather comfortable. He had never been around dogs too much, always preferring feline companionship and the mischievous fae folk. And yet, how quickly he had become accustomed to his bed piled with drooling, snuffling dogs, taking up every crevice and making him wake up every morning drenched in sweat. The times where he slept alone, he slept badly, craving the ever present warmth, that cozy feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Beside him, the bright moonlight highlighted Ludwig’s face, his hand curled around Arthur’s wrist; a last vestige of their earlier cuddle. Arthur contented himself with gazing sleepily at the man, eyes drifting from the unusually messy hair to the sharpness of his jaw. Sleep washed away Ludwig’s sternness, smoothing the worry lines and softening that young face. Unable to help himself, Arthur ghosted his finger across the high cheekbones, his skin impossibly smooth.

“Arthur,” and Arthur couldn’t help but smile, shifting closer. Ludwig did this sometimes; murmuring in his sleep, accent delightfully thickened. Sometimes, Arthur even wrote down what was said, keeping it securely locked away from prying eyes, bringing it out when the world grew cold and dark. 

“Hm?” A content sigh escaped, a small smile playing on Ludwig’s lips. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur froze, eyes widening as he stared at this man, this man who had unthinkably changed everything he had ever known. Arthur did not think much on his looks, those deep insecurities he never allowed to see the light of day. He was too thin, too pale, his eyebrows a constant source of ridicule and exclusion. He never allowed this weakness to be shown, chiding others like Francis who were obsessed with their vanity. He channeled all that self-consciousness into making sure he was powerful and revered, so that no soul could ever guess the tendrils of self-doubt wrapped around his heart. 

Ludwig was beautiful. It was undeniable. He seemed shaped from the gods, perfection rooted in every curve. And while Ludwig thankfully cared little for his appearance aside from fitness, a dark little voice always whispered in the back of Arthur’s head that he could never compare, never measure up. 

Warmth exploded, rushing from his chest up to his cheeks, stinging his eyes and making his throat constricted. Arthur was glad Ludwig wasn’t awake to witness this moment of weakness, of absolute gratitude. He pressed their foreheads together in silent thanks, breathing in the faint scent of his aftershave. 

Affection, even now, was fumbling at times. Heartfelt words rarely spoken unless truly needed, or unless truly inebriated. Neither one needed to hear slavishly devoted confessions of admiration; they knew in their hearts what was true and dear.

But, to hear it expressed so openly, with such sincerity and tenderness, well Arthur was only human. 

He took pains to lock this moment away in his memories, of the moonlight and the rough fur brushed against his spindly legs, and the way Ludwig looked as he dreamed of Arthur. 

And when Ludwig awoke the next morning, he had no memory of his nightly ramblings. But, he did not miss that a small smile had replaced Arthur’s usual morning scowl, or the way that pale hand reached out and clasped his own, the warm sun making every highlight of green stand out in his eyes.

And Ludwig would think to himself, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it aloud, that Arthur indeed, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.


	5. Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Please don't leave me." FrUk. From the sappy prompts list

For all his talk about not needing anyone else, Arthur was no stranger to loneliness.

It was pervasive, sinking into his skin and hanging heavy in his heart. A weight that no amount of alcohol or self-denial could abate. Endless nights in a darkened room, with only the flicker of the television for company, and Arthur would wonder how it had come to this point, where companionship had become impossible for him to hold onto.

Companionship was weakness, his pride had convinced him. To even let down his stiffened walls for a second, a moment, was to invite exploitation. Best to wrap yourself in a hardened shell, where no hurt or pain could ever be inflicted.

There were times, however, where pride’s siren song was muted. Where Arthur’s fingers would dial a number he would never admit to memorizing, and a flimsy excuse would fall from his lips on why he needed the other man near.

For all his talk about hating Francis, he was the one he always called. Because he was the one who always came.

Francis brought his wine, because he claimed he couldn’t stomach whisky (a lie, they both knew, for Francis had allowed Arthur to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth on more than one occasion). They would sit on the couch, bickering and nattering at each other, until old memories surfaced and affectionate chuckles replaced the quarreling. Some inexorable pull made the gap between them shrink until their knees were touching, and neither of them could quite remember who had moved first.

Alcohol flowed through Arthur’s veins, knocking down his barriers in a way no one else ever could. Sometimes they drank too much, laughing raucously at something or other, sight dimmed and blurred as the room spun.

And sometimes they drank just enough. Enough that everything was bright and approachable, where excuses could be comfortably born with memories still in tact. Boldness replaced pride, urging them both forward, until their lips met and nothing else seemed to matter.

They would both claim that the other had initiated it, because even now, even after all these years, old habits die hard.

This night was no different. The kiss happened quicker, surprising them both, but there was an incessant tug in the back of Arthur’s mind, filled with longing, and who was he to ignore how inviting Francis’ lips looked in the low-light? 

Everything seemed to bleed together, a bed appearing out of nowhere, limbs tangled together and lips covering every inch of skin. No one could compare to Francis, and it scared Arthur sometimes, because this was his enemy, as old as the blood pumping in his heart. 

This was a dance they knew by rote, but something seemed different tonight. He held to Francis longer, riding out every moment until it had long since passed, demanding and unapologetic. Francis responded in kind, his own eyes wide with wonder and desire. Something dared to bloom here, if they would just allow it, both too stubborn and stuck in their ways. 

It was that time again. The time where Francis stubbed out his cigarette and dressed himself. Where Arthur rolled over in mock disgust at succumbing to his libido once more. Where a quip, an insult, a jab was ground out, to shore up their vulnerabilities. Arthur’s heart was pounding in his ears, and the whisky’s soft shield slipping through his fingers. 

He didn’t want it to end this way. 

“Francis.” 

He stilled, hair cascading down a bare back. Turning just enough for Arthur to catch a glimpse of his flawless features. 

“Please don’t leave me.” 

Time slowed, froze, shattered. The words had escaped, unthinking, and there wasn’t enough alcohol thrumming through his system to blame. Those words had come from deep-seated part of himself, and Arthur swallowed, panic rising like bile to his throat. 

Their eyes locked, and Arthur didn’t miss the inquiry weighted in that gaze. Did he mean it? Was this a game? Arthur stared back steadily, for as much as he was horrified at his confession, it was out there now, and there was nothing that could be done about it. It was the truth after all, and he would not allow Francis to see him second-guessing himself.

Old habits die hard. 

Tension wrung out of Francis’ frame, dissipating like fine smoke in the air. Crawling back into bed, gathering Arthur’s slim face in both his hands and kissing him fiercely. Arthur melted into the kiss, boneless, something beautiful and fragile sparking in his chest. 

“I’ll stay, Arthur,” came the whisper, blue eyes shining. Golden hair tickled his nose as Francis buried his face in his neck, and Arthur’s arm encircled him, not allowing him to escape. 

There would be time to figure things out. What this all meant. Where to go. For now, in this moment, Arthur had Francis. He would not spend the night alone with only the television for company, droning voices melding into the background. He would fall asleep with a lingering kiss, and a content sigh, and the knowledge that in the morning when he awoke, Francis would be there.


End file.
